


Compositions of a Street Rat

by Alex_J_Mulush, TellyLikesPudding



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Dystopian Society AU, ENGLAND!!!!, F/F, F/M, Gangs, Germany won WWII, ICELAND!!!, Lesbians, My Own Universe, NEOSPORIN!!, Original Story - Freeform, Rebellion, So many nerd references, This is pretty damn awesome, all of these characters are based off my best friends, for reals, for the tags!, if not for the story, like firefly, nothing like firefly, pretentious assholes, read it, this is my life as an AU, whoot!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:36:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_J_Mulush/pseuds/Alex_J_Mulush, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellyLikesPudding/pseuds/TellyLikesPudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gangs. That's what life is made up of. Groups of ruthless savages fighting for their own little patch of street, barely surviving everyday life, dying off like flies and being replaced by new members prepared to do the last guys job even better than he did. People who weren't in gangs were called Floaters. Floaters aren't exactly highly respected by society if you couldn't tell by the name. If you weren't in a gang there was no guarantee you'd live to tomorrow. Of course, there was no guarantee anyway, but at least your chances of living a little longer were raised by being in a gang. My name is Samuel Alexander 'Neosporin' Davis, and this is the story of how I got to live a little longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alex_J_Mulush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_J_Mulush/gifts).



Introduction:

"Gangs. That's what life is made up of. Groups of ruthless savages fighting for their own little patch of street, barely surviving everyday life, dying off like flies and being replaced by new members prepared to do the last guys job even better than he did. People who weren't in gangs where called Floaters. Floaters aren't exactly highly respected by society if you couldn't tell by the name.

A long long time ago way back in the 1940's, there was this huge war going on called World War II between the Allies and the Axis powers. For a while it seemed like there was a chance for the Allies, but that quickly vanished when the Axis banned together and developed the Atomic Bomb. Great continents such as Australia, Africa, and America were all but destroyed completely. Then, Germany unexpectedly turned on the rest of the countries in the Axis, destroying them all for the sake of ultimate rule.

When the Emperor Adolf Hitler finally passed away nearly 30 years later, the union of Sweden negotiated an alliance with the leaderless empire, and so formed the Imperial Alliance. The countries that were left unharmed by the massive attack were colonized quickly, London becoming the home of the Imperials and Imperialists and the center off all power in the new world, but some colonized countries were a bit less lucky. For example: Iceland, which is exactly were I've been sent to find a gang to stick with. Preferably a gang with special abilities like me.

If you weren't in a gang there was no guarantee you'd live to tomorrow. Of course, there was no guarantee anyway, but at least your chances of living a little longer were raised by being in a gang. My name is Samuel Alexander 'Neosporin' Davis, and this is the story of how I got to live a little longer.

 

Chapter 1: Lost (Tuesday)

I moaned in pain, rubbing the back of my head as I cracked my eyelids. My eyes snapped closed again as soon as the light seeped in. "Ugh. What the-" I groaned softly, fumbling with my words. "Shh. He's up," I heard from across the space. "Hey buddy. Took a nasty hit there, huh?" said the same deep voice. I opened my mouth as if to answer, but just let out a squeak. "He sure looks hurt real bad," the man with the deep New York accent whispered. "Maybe Blondie's just a bitch," stated another voice, this time a woman. Where was she from? She sounded a bit Northern. "Don't be mean to the prisoner, Wednesday." A snort rang out in the seemingly empty space. "I wasn't put on this earth to be nice, MM," the woman said, a sneer in her accented voice. 'Prisoner?' I thought. 'How the fuck did I get captured so damn quickly?!' I groaned once more before opening my green eyes slowly, taking in my blurry surroundings. "Where... Where am I?" I inquired as I began to sit up. "Am I back in gaol? What did I do this ti-" A hand slapped to my mouth cut me off and my eyes focused on two warm brown ones. "Shush. You ain't in gaol." The American with the thick curly brown hair pushed me back slowly to a lying position. "I'm Julian, but people call me Motormouth or MM for short." I looked him over, confused as hell. This guy was short-ish and stocky with a baggy blue and white plaid button down shirt and old fashioned blue jeans and white sneakers. "And that's Wednesday. She's grumpy." "Stäng din hora mun." I nodded in comprehension. "Sam. Sam Davis," I managed to say. "What? Don't have a Title Name? Ain't you in a gang?" he asked. I bristled slightly. That was a touchy subject. I had been in a gang, but that was long ago. They had left me for another member. A better member. One who _wasn't_ a gimp with a fake leg. Instead of saying all of this, I simply shook my head. The woman out of my sight snorted again and I tried my best not to retaliate.

"Well... What's your skill?" "Healing. My mum sent me off to school to be a doctor but... Yeah..." Why the hell was I telling this to complete strangers? "Hmm..." The man stood there for a minute before his brown eyes lit up. "You're a doctor?" "Erm... Medic really." "Well that's awesome! We could use a medic! Ain't that right Serg-" "Bro!" the voice of the woman hissed. "C'mere!" She demanded. The man walked out of my sight and the two began whispering to each other.

"What the fuck are you doing you jävla idiot?! We don't know this kid! He could be a spy for the Rumble Fish or the Tigers!" "But Sergeant!" "No! Now get him cleaned up so he doesn't look so..." She stopped speaking for a moment before startling me by nudging my side with what I guess is her foot. "so brutto som skit," she finished. 'Swedish. That's what it is. She's Swedish... At least I got the Northern part right...' I jumped violently as two startlingly light blue eyes came into view. She stood there, hip jutted out with a deep frown, adjusting her navy blue denim vest and brushing dirt off of her white skinny jeans. As soon she spotted me staring at her, her hand moved down, her fingers brushing the gun in the holster on her thigh.

"How old are you anyway? 10? 11?" she sneered, reaching up to adjust the white fedora on her head. "17," I spat out, glaring as well as I could as I brushed off my blue jeans and my navy blue sleeveless shirt. "Oh fuck. He's hardly old enough to hold up a gun! Så jävla typiskt!" "Lay off him, Serg! He's had a rough day!" "Ugh. Fine. But you get to let Cap know and you better believe she'll be förbannad som fan!" she said as she bent slightly to pull off one black and white checkered shoe, turning it over and letting two or three rocks fall out. "Common then, Sam. I want you to meet someone."


	2. Chapter 2: Street Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gangs. That's what life is made up of. Groups of ruthless savages fighting for their own little patch of street, barely surviving everyday life, dying off like flies and being replaced by new members prepared to do the last guys job even better than he did.
> 
> If you weren't in a gang there was no guarantee you'd live to tomorrow. Of course, there was no guarantee anyway, but at least your chances of living a little longer were raised by being in a gang. My name is Samuel Alexander 'Neosporin' Davis, and this is the story of how I got to live a little longer."

Chapter 2: The Street Rats

"So _Sam_... Where you from?" MM asked as he lead me down the bright sunny street. Well, sunny aside from the brown sheet of pollution covering the blue-brown of the sky. I kicked aside some rubbish on the ground, my hands buried in my deep pockets. "Brighton. You?" "Brooklyn, NY. What made you move here? Iceland is one of the worst colonies you could choose. Most people here were born here." "Scavengers mostly. They'd come in the middle of the night and take every scrap of food I'd managed to get for my mum and me." Motormouth nodded. "I got sent here by my old gang, the Hellas, so I could get some new recruits. Well, that's what they told me at least." "Ditched?" I asked. "Yup. They were dicks anyhow. Always making stupid 'Your Mom' jokes and stuff. I'd wanted to leave for a while but I never expected my escape to be set up so easily," he said with a smile, his brown eyes brimming with optimism.

"If you guys are done braiding each others hair and sharing secrets," Wednesday spoke up. Motormouth rolled his eyes and walked to stand to the left of me, The Swede on the right. "This is Sergeant Nikkie J 'The Wednesday Swede' Rivers with Sergeant Julian Ashton 'Motormouth' Sangri del Cristo de la Santa Cruz de Garcia Garcia requiring authorization for entrance into base." "Request approved," said a strange disembodied voice. "Thanks, Sheila. C'mon dip-shits." The Wednesday Swede, as she was apparently really called, walked through the gap that was forming as two doors that used to be one brick wall slid open. I followed her hesitantly, only consoled by Motormouth humming an old tune. "That was good, Wednesday. You didn't mess it up this time," Motormouth said with a grin. "Shut the fuck up. I fuckin hate your name." I stifled a laugh as Motormouth and The Wednesday Swede argued.

Suddenly, from out of no where it seemed, a dark figure dropped to the ground landing on their feet. "Vad i helvete!?" The Swede cursed. "Jesus Christ, Pope! What did I tell you about popping up outta nowhere? What the fuck were you doing up there anyway?" "Praying," said the pale, thin man. English... London Proper in fact. He wore a light blue cabbie hat, a gray vest, a white button down shirt, gray slacks, and a purple bow tie. His large brown eyes twitched slightly behind his glasses, scanning me. "May I ask who this is, Sergeant?" "You may, Specialist Pope," said Motormouth with a goofy smile. There was a long pause with an annoyed look from Wednesday before the awkward Brit repeated "Well... Who is it?" I stepped foreword with a sigh and held out my hand, bowing my head slightly. "Samuel A Davis," I said with a polite smile. "Ah! You're from Brighton? Fantastic! My name is Specialist Mance Edward Leeman 'Pope' Harmon. It's very nice to meet you." I smiled and nodded curtly. "Nice to have another Brit here, yeah?" he said with a pointed glance at The Swede. She scowled and rolled her eyes. "Just more annoying bitches to take care of," she sighed, removing her white fedora and running her fingers through the short dark brown hair covering one bright blue eye.

"Alright. Well, we have to go. Now," she hissed before grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the lanky but short Brit. "Wait! Where are you going?" "To see Cap! Now aren't you and Bos supposed to be cleaning?" Pope's face looked a bit guilty as he put his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. "Yes... Don't tell Cap I was ditching, yeah?" "Sure. Whatever. Let's go." The Swede continued to lead me down the dark corridor, grumbling to herself in Swedish. I knew very well I should know what she was saying. Sweden is half of the Imperial Alliance after all. No one should walk the streets without understanding German and Swedish. My mom just never got to teaching me. 'Mom...' I thought. 'I wonder if she's doing better. Now that I'm gone, she should have plenty of food...' "Hey. Moron. Snap out of it! God he's taking the piss." The Swede grumbled before smacking me upside the head. "Hey! We're here." "Oh... Sorry," I said, not exactly actually sorry.

"Budge up," she demanded before shoving me away violently. Motormouth looked as if he was about to speak but The Swede gave him a pointed look as the metal door opened. My eyes widened as I looked into the room before me. It was enormous with concrete floors and metal walls. The entire room glowed blue from the light of three gigantic screens mounted in the back wall. I squinted, my eyes still adjusting to the light, before spotting a figure standing before the first screen, back to the door. I glanced at The Swede as she nudged my side harshly. She kneeled on the ground on her left knee, her fist over her heart. When I just stared she sighed and reached up, pulling me down by my t-shirt. Motormouth stepped forward. "Captain?" he greeted cautiously. The figure stopped moving before answering. "Yes Sergeant? What is it?" My mind raced. Another Brit! This one from Oxford. Why so many? I'd never heard of so many Brits in one place, especially in Iceland! "We found someone when we were on watch. Says he's a Medic." At that the English woman turned about and looked straight at me. "A medic? What're you doing in Iceland?" she asked, walking over to us. She made a hand motion at The Swede and she rose immediately, saluting. She saluted back before nodding. The Wednesday Swede paused for a moment before turning and walking out, the metal door closing behind her.

"So... Let me hear the story. Why is a well educated boy here in this hell hole?" I thought for a moment, looking her over. Black hair with a strange red glow, pale skin, large-ish mismatched eyes, and a smirk. She wore a white button up shirt that you'd see a barber wearing along with a gray vest and two utility belts across her chest. She had a cargo belt holding up her loose tan cargo pants and shiny black combat boots, one tied and one untied. "Well?" she said, motioning for me to start talking. "I... Well... My mum sent me away..." I mumbled, looking down. She nodded. "Keep going." I stumbled for my words as she walked around me, looking me over. "She... She sent me here so she could... Erm... Have more food. She told me to find my own gang and to not come back unless I was in grave danger." The woman nodded slowly, taking in the information.

"So... You're from, what, Brighton? UK, yeah? Well that's great, innit. Nice to have another one from the old country. What's your name then?" "Erm. Samuel Alexander Davis… erm, ma'am." She laughed at that and smiled, stopping her circling to stand in front of me. She stepped back, now at least a yard away from me. "Well, Sam, My name is Captain Telemachus N. 'Shakespeare' Smith, leader of the Street Rats. Welcome." She bowed deeply with a theatrical flourish. Motormouth chuckled fondly. "And you've met Sergeant Motormouth, my left hand and Negotiator, and The Wednesday Swede, my right hand and lead assassin. Who else have you met?" she inquired with a grin. "I've met Pope..." "Ah yes. Specialist Pope. He's a bit pretentious, but you get used to it. So the only one of us you haven't met is Specialist Lesbos, yeah?" I looked at Shakespeare questioningly and she smirked. "I think you'll like Lesbos. MM, get Bos here." Motormouth nodded and, with a quick salute, turned and walked out the door. I watch him leave, smiling as he grins at me goofily. When the door closed I turned back to Captain Shakespeare.

I nearly screamed when she ran at me and gripped my throat, slamming my back against the cold metal wall. "Now you listen here you gimp legged little tosser. I don't know how long you intend to keep up this facade of a shell shocked little drip. Just know that I don't buy into your tosh. If you step one toe out of line, I will not hesitate to kill you. Yeah? Then you'll not think faffing about in the Outside is such a bad option. Not when I'm done with you. You got that, smeg head?" I nodded frantically, my eyes wide. She nodded her approval and released my throat, turning about and walking up the three short stairs back to the three screens. As soon as she got there the door slid open "This is Specialist Haley Elizabeth 'Lesbos' Craven. She'll show you around the base," Shakespeare said without turning back around. "I've got to go help The Swede make dinner." Shakespeare turned, touched a circle on the middle screen, and walked right through it.

"Alright, Newbie. If you vill just come vith me-" "Now hold on just a minute! I never said I'd join this gang," I stated, all eyes on me immediately. "Well... Will you?" Motormouth asks, looking at me intently. I gulped, resisting the urge to pull at my collar. "Erm... I mean... Sure...?" "Then vat are you complainink for?" asks the woman introduced as Specialist Lesbos. Germain? And in a gang? This place just got weirder and weirder by the minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO! I highly doubt anyone is actually reading this as it pertains to no fandom at all but... HEY! I hope my non-existent audience enjoys this story!
> 
> ~Tel


	3. Chapter 3: Initiation Part 1

Chapter 3: It Begins "Here is your room. If you need anythink, I vill be two doors down," said Lesbos with a smile, her German accent thick. I nodded quickly, my green eyes wide. She wiggled her fingers, waving goodbye before turning and walking out the door, letting it slide closed. I sighed happily, picturing her face in my mind. She was so pretty with her shoulder length black and blonde hair, her pale skin, the soft blue eyes that shine behind her glasses. The black jeans she wore hugged her in a flattering way and the black hoodie covering her gray t-shirt smelled like vanilla. She also seemed to be the only sane female here.

I sighed again and sat on the cot in the middle of the small room. How the hell did I get here? What was I doing before I awoke to MM and The Swede chattering? "You were running," said the voice of The Wednesday Swede. I jumped violently and looked at the door. She was leaned up against the frame, arms crossed. "You had two of the Jets on your tail. They would've skinned you alive if MM and I hadn't gotten you." I sat for a minute, thinking about her words. "Well... Thank you?" I said with uncertainty. "Cap sent me to tell you that supper's at 19:00. Don't be late or we'll give your share to the cat." I nodded to show my understanding and she huffed. "See you around, Gimpy." I scowled at her back as she left the room. 'God she's such a bitch,' I thought begrudgingly. I jumped as the door opened once again and The Swede popped her head in. "By the way, Gimps, that's _Queen_ Bitch to you," she said with an SJ smirk. My eyes went wide as she winked and left the room. 'Well that was interesting...' I thought. 'Is she a mind reader?' "Nope!" she yelled from the hallway.

A few hours of sitting and thinking and it was nearing 19:00. I was startled out of my thoughts by a knock on the door. "Newbie!" yelled Lesbos through the door. "Time for supper! Come!" I hopped off the cot and patted down the duvet quickly before leaving the room to join Lesbos. She was nowhere to be seen. 'But that's impossible... How... Where did she go?' I asked myself as I glanced down the long hallway. I yelped as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, Newbie! I do not vant my food to be fed to the cat! Hurry!" she said before disappearing. I stood for a moment, completely startled and confused. "... Uh. C-coming!" I yelled after her and hobbled down the hallway, my false leg thumping and clicking against the concrete floor. Thankfully the dining room was a straight shot from the personal cubicles. I walked in slowly, glancing about. The room had a homey feeling to it. Warm orange lighting, oatmeal coloured carpeted floor, pictures of people and things covering the metal walls, and a metal table in the middle of the room with chairs all around it. Funny enough, no none was there. I searched a bit more until giving up and sitting in the chair by the end. I sat for a while until, to my surprise, Motormouth walked through the large painting right at the end next to where I was sitting and sat down across from me with his plate.

"What the?!" I almost shouted. "What?" "You just walked through the wall!" "What?" he laughed questioningly. "That? No! That's holographic! Nearly half of the stuff here is holographic." "Really? How did you get so much holo-tech?" "Captain and The Swede built it. They founded the Street Rats. It used to be just the three of us but… yeah. We needed more people so... Pope and Lesbos..." he trailed off. I stared at him for a minute as he just sat and stared off into the distance. "Um... Mr. Motormouth? You alright?" I inquired, moving my hand in front of his face. I yelp as he grabbed my wrist. "Did you SEE that?!" he hissed. "Wh-What? See what?!" I asked, alarmed. He glanced about frantically before looking at my concerned expression and calming. "Sorry. Thought I saw... Whatever. Never mind. Wanna get some food? I think I'm gonna go get food. Food sounds good right now. I'm gonna... Yeah..." With that, Motormouth stood and shuffled out of the room, leaving me alone.

I went back to my room after supper, not terribly eager for another round of Pin the Cat on the Newbie. This group was insane. I couldn't tell if they loved or hated each other with all their endless bantering and occasional rough housing. By now I had them all characterized. Captain Shakespeare was the Leader and the brains of the operation, The Wednesday Swede was the brawn. Motormouth was the mother, getting everyone to calm down and not kill each other, Pope was the 'black sheep' of the gang, always respectable and clean rather than rowdy and grimy like the rest, and Lesbos... Well Lesbos was like the baby of the gang. She seemed to be the youngest out of the five and the least insane. Kind of... Needless to say, I was exhausted. I sat down on my cot, stretching and yawning. I was just starting to nod off when a knock sounded on my door. "Hmm...? Wha...?" I managed to mumble. "Wake up Bitch. Initiation," said a voice. I groaned and buried my face in my duvet, unwilling to awaken. My mind was foggy but I registered the feeling of arms wrapping around me. I groaned again as I was hoisted over a bony shoulder. It took a long while before I realized it was The Swede. "Mmh" I mumbled in protest. "Shut the fuck up, Cockbite," she growled. I grumbled softly and was met with a metal wall in my face. "Ow!" I hissed. "Whoops." I swore I could hear her snickering.

"Alright, Newbie. You are here for your initiation into the humble ranks of the Salahverfi Street Rats. State your full name, age, date of birth, and skill and/or ability if any apply," Motormouth recited easily. "Oh. And your skill level colour." I stumbled for words for a minute before stuttering out, "Samuel Alexander Davis, 17 years old, DOB unknown, healer: skill level blue." "Blue?" The Swede snorted. "Seriously? How the hell did you get such a high ranking?" "By being good at what I do," I said, internally smirking. "Anyway," MM interrupted. "Has the scribe received this information?" Lesbos nodded from the corner, typing furiously on the holo-typewriter.

"Then we begin. Your first task, my son, will be to heal a fresh phaser wound." The Swede grinned and Pope snorted. "Where the fuck are we gonna find someone with a phaser wou-" He yowled as the sound of a phaser going off echoed through the dark courtyard, reverberating off of the metal walls. "SERGEANT!! YOU _SHOT_ ME!! YOU BLOODY _SHOT_ ME!!" he shouted as The Swede smirked and inserted her phaser back into her thigh holster. I rushed over to Pope, helping him to a seated position as he squeaked curses at The Swede. (She looked way too satisfied having just shot her own man). "Calm down, mate," I said as I pushed him back to rest against the wall. I reached into my jeans pocket, pulling out gauze and bandages. "He carries medical supplies in his pocket...?" Lesbos whispered to Motormouth. "Shush," The Swede commanded. I set down the bandages as I removed a small tube of Neosporin from my other pocket, squeezing some out onto the gauze and into my hand. "This'll sting at first," I stated. Pope nodded, grimacing as I rubbed on the Neosporin. After spreading it, I placed on the gauze and wrapped it up tightly, tying it off at the end. "Is that too tight?" Pope shook his head no and moved to stand, grabbing MM's offered hand. "Ok...? Was that all?" I asked as I stood. The Swede snorted and crossed her arms. "You wish."... She was right.

A few minutes later I was running about the courtyard with The Wednesday Swede strapped to my chest as she screamed in nonsensical Swedish. "WHY AM I DOING THIS?!" I yelled. "WHY IS HE DOING THIS?!" she copied with an enraged expression. "I HATE MY LIFE!!" "I HATE YOUR LIFE TOO!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOOOO SORRY! I haven't had any bloody time to write and I've had the WORST writers block! Thank you to you 7 people actually reading this! It means so much to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you guys! So this is a story inspired by my dear, lovely, amazing mates. Obviously we're not gangsters and Germany did NOT win, so this is most definitely an AU of EPIC proportions! Lots of love to my dear friend and partner in crime, Alex_J_Mulush for inspiring me and helping me through my writers block! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I'll try to have the next one up next week! <3


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